Hell Eternal
by Hawki
Summary: RS Oneshot: He had walked the Umbral Plains and scoured even the deepest pits of Hell. But in truth, he had merely walked the path that others had before him...


**Hell Eternal**

Through broken visor and burning air, he looked into the eyes of his enemy.

The face, like his, in some respect – human. Or at least humanoid. Perhaps it was providence that the peoples of the realms beyond Hell would take the human form. Perhaps it was the apex evolutionary point, and that certain processes would nudge species to reach the form that he himself walked in. Or perhaps beyond sight and mind, there were other creatures that his own eyes, old as they were, would never see.

And yet it wasn't human. Its skin, burnt and flayed, wasn't human. Its arms, scorched by the fires of hell, the fire reaching its end in grasping talons, wasn't human. The armour it wore was like his, yet different – scarred with the abominable runes of Baphomet, no different from those that carried the standard of Doom. Not human…no. Had it been? Yes, or at least, the equivalent of human from a world beyond his reach. But that didn't matter. For here, in this hellscape, among the ruins of charred buildings that reached towards Heaven, now consumed by the fires of Hell, he knew the truth. And slowly turning to the one behind him, the one that had been long absent, the one that he named "damned," he spoke the words. The only words he had spoken in aeons. Words that would mean nothing to those that he slayed, and words that would mean little to the humans of this world…what was left of him. Words that were but two.

"You knew."

Once damned, now twice damned. Once, for his abandonment – as chains tore his flesh, and body and soul were locked within the Kadingr Sanctum. Twice, for his deception. Not yet a lord of lies, but still, it was clear to the Slayer that guile was his patron's wine, and deception his bread.

"I did, my child."

Not that the Seraph would need to consume anything.

But then, what _did_ the Seraph do? The one who had blessed him, giving him the strength and speed to rip and tear more ably? The one who shielded his mind from the whispers of temptation, to ignore the sweet music of those whose coda was named damnation? The one who had let his world burn, but was happy to let loose his champion across the plains of Hell? The one who floated there before him, hood down and face hidden, but not in shame? The Seraph was no angel. He was perfectly willing to let the innocent fall alongside the damned.

"How many?" the Slayer whispered.

The Seraph remained silent.

"How many?" repeated the Slayer.

Still in silence, the Seraph remained. Burning was the wind, and atonal was its song, but the Slayer would hear none of it. He would hear from the composer, not the performer. The one who had once conducted him, before abandoning him to find his own tempo.

"Answer me, or thrice damned I name you."

"I have had many names my child. What you call me is irrelevant." The Seraph paused, and each second felt as long as an age of the world. "But I shall answer – many."

"Many?"

"Many. There have been many who have borne the title of Slayer. Many who have fallen. For all my gifts, they failed me. They could not, or would not, sanctify Creation with the blood of Hell, and instead, their own blood was spilt upon the fire." The Seraph gestured to the body beside the Doom Slayer. "And some, through weakness of mind or flesh, were taken." He sighed. "Doom Hunter. Marauder. Two names of many. But words are but wind for them, as they are for you."

In silence, the Doom Slayer stood. He had ripped the bodies of demons. Had torn the bodies of those corrupted. He had scoured the Umbral Plains, had bested a titan, he had given the Devil pause. In that, there was a simplicity. A purity. And yet, casting another glance towards the fallen, at those dead eyes looking at one who should have died ten times over, he was compelled to ask the question.

"How many?"

"I have answered, my son."

"How many?" repeated the Slayer. "Answer my question. The first question."

"The first is not always the most pertinent," the Seraph said. "Numbers are as nothing to Creation. Infinity is vast, but uncaring."

"I would still ask."

"Hell is below, Heaven is above, and ever your eyes are on the ground. There are more things in those places than are dreamt of in your philosophy." The Seraph paused once more, shifting his gaze to the burning plains of Earth. Like before, the Slayer reflected. Of the world he had called home. Yet worse. Much, _much_ worse.

"The answer is still many," the Seraph whispered.

The Slayer grunted.

"I can tell you, as nearly as many as there have been Slayers." The Seraph sighed. "There is one Hell, my child, but more worlds than you can count. And always, it is the same eventually. Perhaps they shall come for you in the caves, so your blood may mark the walls in place of art, leaving no lasting record of your end. Perhaps they come at the kindling of the fire – that sweet, delectable flame that brings both life and death, where one may hear the whispers of those beyond. Perhaps Hell wins through the minds and hearts of Men, as they destroy themselves. Or perhaps Man reaches for the stars, not knowing that Hell bars the way. They seek refuge from a dying world, only to unleash damnation, upon the red world named after a god of war, unknowing that the war shall to them not from within or without, but from beyond." The Seraph sighed, and lowered his gaze to the burning soil. "There are times when it is different of course, but almost always, the result is the same. A gate is opened. They enter your world, and do not stop. Always, there is one who rises to fight them – the wolf who dares defend the sheep. But almost always, the wolf falls, and the sheep are either slaughtered, or gain new shepherds. And 'ere the cycle begins again."

"Almost always," the Slayer said.

"Almost always," the Seraph replied. "You, and one other, and he only by the grace of many souls. But what is two compared to the number of the Beast? The mark of infinity?"

"And yet you still try."

"And still I try," said the Seraph. "Does that make me insane, my child? Consider well that we both know the true nature of insanity. Insanity is that place beyond the ground on which we stand. That burning singularity that seeks to consume all Creation. Consider the design of the universe, and ask, does the creator's art stem from insanity or malevolence?" He shook his head, the motions as slow and steady as the passing of sun and moon. "Perhaps I am insane. But still I try. For what else is left but…insanity?"

Insanity. He knew it by name, and knew it well. On the plains of this ruined earth, he stretched his gaze. Trying to imagine infinity. Trying to imagine this scene, repeated over and over, until the last star had died, until the last mortal had taken their breath, until even the fires of Hell had eventually abated. Imagined those like him walking the same path, until they fell. Imagined as best his mind could.

"Rip and tear, my son," whispered the Seraph. "Rip and tear…until it is done."

The Slayer neither moved nor spoke. He was but one man, having slain another who had failed. Perhaps, in another world, in another place, one like him would stand over his body. Lying on the burning earth in testament to his own failure. In testament to his insanity.

The Seraph faded from the sight of mortals, and he consecrated his weapon through the rite of replenishment – by lead and sweat, blood would be spilt.

Insanity? Perhaps.

But what else was left?

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So, I may have misread the source, but there was a hint that the Marauders and/or Doom Hunters of_ Doom Eternal _have some kind of backstory associated with them that'll be revealed later. If so, calling it - they're previous Doom Slayers or something similar. I can't say I'm that enthused about_ Doom Eternal _(partly because it looks like more of the same, and I wasn't that enthused about_ Doom 2016 _either), but if that's the case, I actually like the idea, especially with the notion that Id is trying to construct a "Doom universe" (right, so_ now _you care about continuity), and by extension, it seems to be operating under the idea of "one Hell, many Earths" that I've seen floating around._

 _Of course, could be way off the mark in all of this, but regardless, drabbled this up._


End file.
